


The Slow Bleed

by theherocomplex



Series: Strange Nights, Stranger Journeys [2]
Category: When The Night Comes (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Other, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: “And…I’m afraid of what I’ll do if that happens again,” they finish.Because I love you, and because I don’t know how to love you well. No one ever showed me how.
Relationships: Hunter/August Willenheim
Series: Strange Nights, Stranger Journeys [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350991
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	The Slow Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> An anon requested **Eglantine - A wound to heal, Spring, Poetry** , and [thievinghippo](http://thievinghippo.tumblr.com) asked for **Bouvardia – Enthusiasm – for August Willenheim/Dasha Redthorne**.

In August’s defense, leaving their boots on had always been the _practical_ solution before. But that was before they were presented with clear evidence to the contrary; before they discovered the order of magnitude’s difference between _sex_ and whatever heady business they’re involved in now — before a certain Hunter General decided her life’s work was making August forget their own damn name.

 _She hasn’t even touched me yet_. August bites back a groan as Dasha exhales, warm and damp, over the hollow of their throat. _I’m not going to survive the night_.

They feel her smile against their skin, and don’t even try to hide their shudder. “You’re thinking again, August.” Her voice is still rough and low from sleep, her eyes heavy-lidded and dark as ink when she looks up. “I really must be doing a bad job following orders if you’re still capable of thinking in complete sentences.”

“No,” they agree, without thinking. Dasha’s eyes go wide and she bursts out laughing — the electric whip of a laugh they can pick out in any crowd. “I — what orders?”

Her laugh fades to a sly grin. “I believe, General Willenheim,” she says, mock-serious, though her eyes glitter too much for the illusion to last, “that you told me to _make you feel good_ , not half an hour ago.”

Oh. Right. _That_. “I believe you are correct, Hunter,” they reply, arching their back as she skims her nails over their bare chest. “At least your hearing isn’t in question.”

“I always hear the General’s orders.” Dasha straddles their hips, bare thighs flexing as she adjusts her weight. Just a hint of pressure and heat through their trousers, but enough to loose the groan August can no longer hold back. Dasha’s eyes slips closed as she shivers.

“I think I would die happy if you made that noise every day for the rest — August?”

They couldn’t help it. The past three days are still too fresh: Dasha lying motionless in the snow, the mad rush back to town, Ezra telling everyone to _shut up, shut up_ as he tried to find where all the blood was coming from. Death is never too far from a Hunter, but it came far too close for August to bear, and even having her in their arms now can’t keep them from shuddering at that word falling from her mouth.

“What is it? Sweetheart?”

August sits up clumsily, tangled in both their clothes, and presses their face to her chest. “It’s nothing,” they lie. “I’m fine.” _You called me sweetheart. I can’t let you go._

Dasha huffs and runs a hand through their hair. “August. Talk to me.”

They do their best impression of the terrifying Enforcer-General and give her a cold glare and matching arched eyebrow. “I thought we’d established I give the orders, Hunter Redthorne.”

Dasha is, predictably, distinctly un-terrified. “Sure, you can give lots of orders, and I’ll even follow most of them, but when you go —” She waves her hand vaguely in the air near her head. “— you know, then I worry. So. Talk to me.”

August hesitates long enough for Dasha to reach for her shirt, which _really_ belongs on the floor and not on _her_ , so they summon the courage to speak. To tell the truth.

And it _is_ courage, because August does not, as a rule, indulge in intimacies. Sex, yes. Trust, yes. But not where the two intersect, and become something greater. Not in —

 _Don’t say it,_ they tell themselves. _Don’t you dare even hope._

“I thought you were gone,” they say. “You were hurt, and I was too distracted to notice, or help, and now…”

 _You are my responsibility. You are_ my _Hunter. Whatever else is between us, that must come first._

She smooths their hair back from their face. How she looks so at ease, so confident, while also so gloriously naked, is a mystery August will treasure for the rest of their life, even if she walks out of it in the next five minutes.

“And…I’m afraid of what I’ll do if that happens again,” they finish. _Because I love you_ , _and because I don’t know how to love you well. No one ever showed me how._

Dasha watches them for a long time. Moonlight falls across her bare shoulder. She is so _young_ , so alive, and if the world froze here, August thinks they’d be content with that.

“Me too,” she says, quietly. “If you were hurt, or something — August.”

“What?”

“We’re here,” she says, smiling out of nowhere. And then she laughs, again. “We’re here, and I’m alive, and so are you, and you still have your most of your clothes on, so let’s focus on the real crisis here, hm?”

“Dasha —”

“August.” She catches their face in her hands. “I’m not going to break, or leave, or die. Not for a long, long time. And if I did — I would come back, just like this time. I’m not going anywhere.”

She’s telling the truth, they realize, a little in awe. She’s here. The slow bleed of loneliness and heartache can end. She’s here, and so are they, and that’s enough.

They tighten their arms about her waist, and pull her back down to the couch. “No, Dasha,” they say, “you’re not.”


End file.
